


Niente Più Durelli

by MaesterChill



Series: Bad Things Happen [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Boners, Fluff, Getting Together, Grinding, Harry is a Good Friend, Hogwarts Fourth Year, M/M, Minor Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sexuality Crisis, Skin Hunger, Tango, Touch-Starved, Yule Ball (Harry Potter), cute beans, dance lessons, mental health, non-graphic underage bump n grind, ron not so much, teenagers figuring things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 01:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18681700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/pseuds/MaesterChill
Summary: Neville needs to learn how to dance. But he's not used to being touched. A tall, dark, handsome Slytherin offers to help.(The title translates to ‘No More Stiffies’ but it sounded more romantic in Italian.)





	Niente Più Durelli

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RuArcher (Coriesocks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/gifts).



> Written for Growing Neville Fest 2019. Props to [keyflight790](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/) for modding this awesome fest!
> 
> The characters in this fic are fifteen years old. There are one or two hard-ons and some brief groin-rubbing but no more than that. They’re teenage boys, what can I say?
> 
> Thanks to [RuArcher (Coriesocks)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuArcher%20\(Coriesocks\)/) for prompting Blaise / Neville for my Touch Starved bingo square. This got me thinking that it could make a great entry for Growing Neville fest, and things just ‘grew’ from there.
> 
> Thanks to [Buildyourwalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buildyourwalls/) and [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/) for all the alpha squee and suggestions. Without their sage advice this fic would contain no mood clasp and no stiffies and would have been all the sorrier for it.
> 
> Thanks to [HeyItsGem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyItsGem/) for the extremely helpful and speedy beta, and the title suggestion.
> 
> Thanks also to [gnarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnarf/) for advice on ratings and tags and to [MarchNoGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchNoGirl/) and [Tedah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedah/) for help with Italian bits (pun intended).

 

“Draco tells me you want to learn to dance?”

Neville startled with a squawk at the silky voice at his ear. _Far too close_. He turned his head and was met with the large coffee brown eyes of Blaise Zabini. Several heads turned to look at them. No wonder; they were almost nose to nose.

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed, eyes tracking nervously around the library. “Wait, _Draco_ told you? Draco _Malfoy_?”

“How many other Dracos do you know?”

Neville was confused. Malfoy hated him. If he wasn’t hexing him, he was belittling him at every opportunity and teasing him about his clumsiness. Why would he help him? With _this_ of all things? It could only be—

_Hang on._

“Is this a joke?” Neville frowned.

Yes, he thought, clearly a wind-up. The Slytherins must think he’s a complete muppet. A pureblood who can’t even dance? Even Ron was able to do a passable waltz. He said his mum had taught them all manner of ‘weird bloody dances’ when they were kids. Well, okay, no, Ron was pretty pants too, but at least he didn’t obsess until four in the morning about the idea of his dance partner merely holding his hand.

“No, Longbottom, no joke.” Zabini put a hand on his shoulder and Neville’s whole upper body shuddered. “I happen to be trained in many types of dance. I’m the perfect person to teach you.”

“But w-why would you help me?” He grit his teeth to stop himself from leaning into Zabini’s touch. What was wrong with him?

“Ah. Well, I’d dearly love to say it’s out of the goodness of my heart. But a little birdie told me that you have access to the restricted section of the greenhouse and I was hoping you might, um, scratch my back if I scratch yours.”

Neville’s heart raced at the thought of his back being scratched. _Merlin, focus_. What Zabini was asking was against school rules. Professor Sprout trusted him with that greenhouse key.

“I dunno…”

But Neville needed this, needed to overcome this fear and anxiety. It had taken all his courage to ask Ginny to the Yule Ball that morning. He couldn't show her up by refusing to dance with her, or making a complete tit of himself if he did.

He liked her. _Really_ liked her. He wondered if it was because she was so unlike him. Confident and fiery, her body hard and athletic… she had more muscle than he did for Merlin's sake. And she was fun, and effervescent, and they seemed to get on pretty well.

No, he had to try. For her sake, if not his own. What harm would getting a few cuttings from the greenhouse do?

He cleared his throat. “What exactly do you need?”

“Oh, nothing you need to be concerned about. Bit of belladonna, moonseed, henbane, mandrake root…” he paused, thinking, “Oh yes, mistletoe leaves, we need those too.”

“We?”

Zabini coughed. “Never mind about the ‘we’. Oh, and Pansy and Daphne want some silverweed. Pomfrey‘s potions aren’t strong enough apparently.”

Neville flushed. He was definitely _not_ comfortable discussing girls’ _monthly issues._

“Yeah. Yeah okay, I’ll do it. If you’ll teach me to dance... in time for the Yule Ball.”

“The Yule Ball? But that’s only—” he counted on his fingers, “—eight days away.” He paused in thought for a few moments, eyes narrowed and looking off to the side, then nodded curtly. “We’d be cutting it very fine, but it might just be possible. You’ll have to do exactly what I say; no arguing or complaining.” Neville hurriedly shook his head in agreement, then wondered if he should have nodded instead.

“And remember,” Blaise continued, “no matter how close we get during the lesson, this is merely a teacher-student scenario, no reading anything _more_ into it.”

Neville choked on his own saliva. “No, no, Merlin no.” Was Zabini mental? As if he'd—

“Meet me at 8 pm tonight in the Runes classroom on the third floor. Don't be late.” Zabini turned on the heel of his highly polished Italian leather boot and strode away.

Neville scribbled down the plants that Zabini needed and then turned back to his Potions revision. But he found he could barely focus on poison antidotes. He was going to fail the end of term test. Snape had hinted he was going to test their knowledge by poisoning one of them and Neville just knew it was going to be him. He could only hope it was one of the plant antidotes rather than powdered lizard skin or desiccated cockroaches. At least he’d have half a chance of not ending up in the hospital wing.

All he could think of now was his upcoming dance lesson. _Merlin_ , a dance lesson with Blaise Zabini? What was he thinking? He’d have to let the Slytherin get close to him, _touch him._ He had no idea how or even _if_ he was going to handle it.

It was sure to be a disaster. An awkward, cringey disaster.

But a small part of him thrilled at the thought of someone holding him firmly and strongly. He'd have preferred it to be Ginny, of course, and not a boy—a _Slytherin_ boy. But if he was honest the thought of anyone touching him that way made him tremble with longing.

He couldn't remember the last time anyone had even hugged him, never mind anything as intimate as a dance.

It was sure to be a disaster.

(-_-;)

The hours until he had to meet Zabini crawled slowly by, dragging with them a sickening dread that settled heavily in the pit of Neville’s stomach. Eventually, though, eight o’clock rolled around and he found himself taking a large calming breath, pushing open the door of the Runes classroom and tiptoeing in.

“On time, excellent!” boomed Zabini, causing Neville to jump.

He couldn't see where the voice had come from and turned towards the sound. Zabini stepped out from behind some piled up desks and chairs, a spindly wooden chair floating above his head, jerking slowly upwards towards the top of the pile where it settled precariously.

“Let's get started then. No time to waste!”

Neville looked around. The classroom looked huge with all the furniture pushed back. Zabini walked over towards a vintage looking gramophone, not unlike his gran's, which stood on a table in the corner. Neville followed, teeth worrying at the skin on his lower lip. Next to the gramophone was a wooden box full of what he recognised as Muggle records. Zabini began to flip through them.

“Was there a particular dance you wanted to learn?” he was asking Neville. “Personally, I favour Latin styles, but I'm just as _au fait_ with swing dancing and the foxtrot and even the minuet if that takes your fancy.”

Neville simply gawped.

“Well? We haven’t got all night,” Zabini snapped after several moments had passed. He dropped the records back in the box and turned to face Neville.

“I-I dunno. I don’t know a thing about dances. Just something, anything y’know, that’ll impress my date for the ball.”

“Ah, yes.” Zabini smirked. “One Ginevra Weasley, if I'm not mistaken? A well-built girl I must say. Let me think.”

He took a step towards Neville with a devilish gleam in his eye and grasped the sides of his arms firmly. “Let's get a look at you then, Longbottom.”

Neville let out an involuntary whine. _How embarrassing._ He was a little scared of Zabini, that was all.

“You're terribly jittery, old boy. I'm just sizing up your build and strength. You do have a bit of power in these arms,” he said, squeezing Neville’s biceps. Neville gasped as heat flared in his arms and spread into his chest. “Is something the matter?” Zabini was looking at him askance.

This wasn’t fear. He might as well be honest about that. He might as well just get it over with and tell Zabini.

Merlin, he couldn't though, how would he live it down? His shoulders sagged. But how would he possibly get through dance lessons if he _didn’t_ say something?

“I’m very, um…” Neville swallowed, “very sensitive… to touch. I find it very… odd… to be touched. Not _unpleasant_ , in fact, I— Well, I’m… just not used to it. I’m sorry.” He looked away from Zabini, face burning.

He’d said enough. He couldn’t tell Zabini that he longed to be touched, ached to feel someone’s skin against his and that it frightened the hell out of him. That he clung to his pillow at night wishing it was another warm body, that he spent twice as long in the showers as the other boys, the scalding water sluicing over his needy skin.

“If you don’t want me to touch you, that could present a problem, Longbottom. Please don’t tell me I’ve wasted my time setting up this room for—”

“No, I do, I do, it's fine. Actually... It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just my- my reactions to being touched. Merlin, I really need to get a sodding handle on it or I’ll never be able to dance with Ginny.”

“I see. Sounds like we need to desensitise you.” He went back to flipping through the records in the box for a moment then pulled one out with a flourish. The cover showed a sepia-tinted picture of an elegant couple dancing closely. “Aha!” Zabini said dramatically. “What you _need_ is Tango.”

“Tango?” Neville had heard of that. “That orange Muggle drink that Dean brings from home? How’s that gonna—”

“Salazar! Draco was right, you _are_ a complete—” Zabini cut himself short with a deep breath, sucking in whatever he was about to say. He smiled sweetly, his teeth gleaming in the flickering light from the wall sconces. “ _Tango_ , Longbottom, is a dance. But it is not merely any old dance, it is an _embrace.”_

Neville’s eyes widened considerably.

“A- an embrace. What, like a hug?”

“Yes. And at the heart of the embrace lies a connection which, when done right, can create feelings of pure bliss.”

Neville listened in terror. He was in over his bloody head.

“I’ll teach you the basic steps, and when you have those mastered, we’ll add some flourishes, and then we’ll switch places and I’ll teach you how to lead the dance. You’re going to have to trust me though. Do you think you can do that?”

Oh fuck, Neville thought, I’m supposed to just _trust_ a Slytherin. All of his instincts and experiences up until this point told him this was a bad idea, but he somehow gulped out a “Yes,” and he found there was a perverse thrill in brazenly ignoring the warning bells going off in his head. Perhaps he _was_ a true Gryffindor after all.

“Excellent. We’ll start by listening to the music.” He set the record on the gramophone and placed the needle down. “ _El Choclo_ ,” he announced, “a classic track for dancing the Argentine Tango. Just listen and feel. Let the music flow through you.”

As the accordion music started up Neville’s skin erupted in goosebumps and he ran his palm along his arm to soothe himself. The way the music slowed and sped up, the accordion playing a smooth rhythm while the piano punctuated the gaps with staccato beats, made him want to stand straight and proud and he found himself doing just that.

Zabini was watching him.

“I like it,” Neville said.

“I can see that. Your face completely changed when it started playing. You lost that… dreadful nervy look you always have. It’s… better.” Neville was surprised when Zabini smiled kindly at him and even more so when his stomach gave a little flip in response.

“Let’s listen all the way through,” Zabini carried on, “and we’ll get a feel for the melody, the rhythm and the syncopated beats, this way we’ll know what to expect when we’re dancing.”

 _When we’re dancing_. Neville still couldn't quite get his head around the fact that he was actually going to be dancing... and _with a boy_. He shook his head and concentrated again on the music.

When the song came to an end, Zabini took a step towards Neville.

“Next, the embrace, which is the name for how you hold your partner. This is very important. We get this right and then we establish the connection.”

“The- the connection?”

“The points on our bodies where we’ll communicate.”

“I don’t get it. Can’t we just talk?”

“In tango, the movement and shifting of body weight _is_ the language. Tango—” Neville failed to suppress a giggle when Zabini slipped into a sort of South American accent and gestured grandly, “—is a dance of entwined limbs in conversation.” Zabini put his hands on his hips and glared at Neville. “Oi, don’t laugh!” And then he burst out laughing too. “Okay, okay, let’s just try it, you’ll see what I mean in due course. Take my hand.”

Zabini was so matter-of-fact about just holding hands that Neville just went along with it, as if it wasn’t downright bizarre to be holding hands with another bloke. He grasped Zabini’s left hand firmly with his right hand and closed his eyes for a split second to savour the warm intimate feel of it.

“Now, you place your other hand on the back of my shoulder.”

As he did that his chest came into contact with Zabini’s and he began to feel light headed. When Zabini placed his hand on Neville’s lower back, Neville let out a soft groan. And leant back into the touch.

“Merlin, it’s really affecting you. Are you quite alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. J- just give me a second to get used to it.” Neville’s whole body felt warm and safe and his hand tingled from the skin on skin contact. He took a calming breath. “Okay, what now?”

“Good. So, as you can see, it’s like an embrace, or a hug as you call it, with one arm extended and it creates a circle of energy.”

Neville snorted. “Now you sound like a Hufflepuff.”

Zabini glared at him, his extra inch of height making him all the more intimidating, and Neville’s sniggering trailed off awkwardly.

“We need to move in unison and, as I said before, we use body-to-body communication to achieve that. We talk via _the connection,_ which we’ll practice now.”

“I still don’t get it. This connection. How we talk.”

“As we dance, we'll gradually transfer our weight around the floor and, in this way, we subtly provide constant feedback to each other about our position. While I will be leading the dance, you will be leading the connection—”

“I'll lead the connection?”

“Yes. You'll lead the connection by giving up control to me.”

“G-giving up control?”

“Yes, Longbottom. Try not to interrupt, this will take twice as long if you repeat everything I say. You need to give over complete control to me and feel my intentions through the connection.”

“Uhhh.” This broom ride was sounding weirder and weirder and Neville was starting to wonder if he should just ask to get off right now.

Zabini went on. “We need to keep a gentle pressure against one another at all times and not pull on each other’s hand. Like this.” Zabini pressed his hand into Neville’s, and his other into his back. A warm buzzing started up in his head and Neville felt a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Yeah, feels nice.”

Zabini tutted, “The purpose is not to feel _nice_ , it’s to feel _grounded. Balanced_. You need to push back at me with the same gentle force, while pushing your heels into the floor to steady yourself.”

Neville tentatively pushed his hands against Zabini, one into his warm grip, and the other against Zabini’s hard shoulder. He turned his head just in time for Zabini to exhale hot against his mouth, breath smelling of mint and aniseed. It sent a shiver right down to his toes. Zabini stared at Neville for an uncomfortable moment and then blinked.

“Ehh. That’s better, now we’re balanced. Can you feel it?”  

Neville _could_ feel something, like he was rooted to the spot, chest to chest with Zabini. Grounded. More grounded than he had in weeks. Safe.

He smiled. “Yeah, I feel it.”

“Good, good. Let's try a few simple steps next.”

Zabini took him through the basic steps of the dance, showing Neville how to glide his feet along the floor rather than lift them—after Neville had stepped on his toes several times—and soon he was sliding his feet backwards to match Zabini’s forward slide, and gliding left to match Zabini’s moves to the right.

“We’ll practice these until you can do them without effort, without thinking.”

And they did, over and over, _slow-slow-quick-quick-slow,_ punctuated with gentle corrections and reminders to ‘relax your shoulders’ and ‘keep your back straight.’ By the time Zabini called it a day Neville’s calves were beginning to ache, but he was starting to get the hang of the steps and felt exhilarated. He’d always found it difficult to concentrate. To learn new things. His mind usually just whirled with so much worry and stress about getting it wrong that he inevitably fucked up whatever he tried. But that hadn't happened this evening. Yes, he’d made mistakes with some of the steps, but it hadn’t caused him to freeze up or freak out. He’d managed to correct them and calmly move on.

Zabini was putting the record back in its sleeve and Neville walked over to him.

“Thanks, Zabini, that was surprisingly okay…”

Zabini smirked, and then softened into a smile. “Agreed. You weren’t _too_ awful, there’s definite potential there as long as you’re committed to it. We’ll need to meet each evening if there’s any hope of you mastering this completely.”

“I am,” Neville assured him, feeling something swell within his ribs. “I’m committed.”

“Any spare moments you get you should be practising. Tomorrow we’ll try putting the steps to the music, and then things will start to get fun.”

Neville was surprised to find he was looking forward to it already. He helped Zabini to levitate the chairs back into their places and was surprised again. His _Wingardium_ was working perfectly. This rarely happened. Usually, something exploded, or turned green or inside out, or landed on a teacher’s head.

When they finished Zabini strode over to Neville and grasped his hand, pumping it once in a firm handshake, causing Neville to startle.

“Great spellwork, Longbottom.” He withdrew his hand and studied Neville. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you had this sensitivity to touch?”

“I don’t know.” Neville ran his fingers through his sandy hair and scratched at his scalp in a way he always found soothing. “It’s not something I remember. I’ve never—” He searched for the right words. “I grew up with my gran, see? And she’s not the cuddly sort, doesn’t put much stock in touchy-feely stuff. My parents, they— Well, I see them, but it’s not— It’s not like that. They don’t even know me.” He could feel his eyes and nose prickling.

Zabini looked confused. “Your parents don’t know you?”

“They’re in St Mungo’s. Janus Thickey ward. C-c-curse damage. D-Death Eaters...  I’ve— I’ve never told anyone that. Merlin, I must be just as stupid as they say, telling a Slytherin.” He swiped his wrist across his eye. “Well go on, laugh.”

“Why would I laugh? Just because I’m a Slytherin? We’re not _all_ cruel and uncaring. Some of us do possess a modicum of compassion.” He sniffed audibly and then sighed. “That’s really... shitty about your parents.” Zabini looked thoughtful. “So… so you’ve never had hugs, even from family?”

“Not really, unless you count Great Aunt Hilda. And you definitely wouldn’t count Great Aunt Hilda. She was so fat and wore so many layers that it felt like being hugged by a lavender-scented sofa.”

Zabini laughed deeply, eyes crinkling, and Neville felt his tummy doing a funny little twist at the sight.

As Zabini spelled the classroom door shut, a thought struck Neville.

“I still can’t figure out how come Malfoy knew about me wanting to learn how to dance?”

Zabini stowed his wand away in his robes and smirked. “Pretty sure Potter told him.” He began walking off down the corridor and Neville quickened his pace to catch him up.

“Harry?” he huffed. “Why in Merlin’s name would Harry—?” A clock chimed loudly, cutting him off.

“Salazar! It’s late. Sorry, Longbottom, must get back to the dungeons before curfew.” Zabini set off down a staircase.

Neville called down from the top of the stairs, “But it still makes no sense!”

“Same time tomorrow, Longbottom!”

“Yeah… yeah, seeya Zabini,” Neville sighed, but as he made up the stairs towards the Gryffindor tower he felt lighter than he had in a long time.

(• ◡•)

The next day Neville snuck down to the greenhouses before breakfast to get the clippings for Zabini. Thankfully Professor Sprout was nowhere to be seen so he didn’t have to use his excuse he’d come up with—that he needed the poisonous plants to set traps to catch food for Trevor. He did wonder what the Slytherins needed the plants for. Almost all the ones Zabini had asked for had both sinister and benign uses. He knew it was quite possibly naive to hope that the poisonous qualities of the plants weren’t going to be utilised, and he just prayed he wasn’t aiding and abetting some dark plan.

Once done, he locked up the restricted section, checked his watch and realised he still had twenty minutes before the Great Hall opened. What had Zabini said? _Use any spare moments you get to practise._

Feeling vaguely ridiculous, Neville practised his footwork in the empty greenhouse. There was so much to remember: how to hold himself, where to put his feet, how to step, how to move. He glided backwards around the flagstones with his arms held stiffly aloft, chanting _slow-slow-quick-quick-slow,_ pleased when most of the steps started to come back to him. After twenty minutes he made his way back up to the castle, cheeks sore from grinning.

(~‾▿‾)~

“Harry?” Neville asked as he reached over to the toast rack and helped himself to a slice. “Did you tell Malfoy I wanted to learn how to dance?”

“Umm...” said Harry, a cup of tea halfway to his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Neville laughed.

“Umm...” repeated Harry, looking extremely sheepish. He set the cup down on the table. “Sorry?”

Neville began buttering his toast. “It’s fine, it’s great actually. He’s asked Zabini to teach me and… and it’s tricky, but I think it might just work.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic, Neville.” Harry smiled with obvious relief and picked up his teacup, blowing the surface and taking a cautious sip.

“But I don’t get why you’d take the risk of telling _Malfoy_ , of all people. And _why_ he’d want to help me anyway. It can’t just be to get a few potions ingredients.”

“Ah,” said Harry, eyes darting around the room and cheeks turning pink. “Ah,” he repeated, setting the cup down again and turning to face Neville, “well, the thing is, Malfoy he— Well he owed me a favour. Long story actually.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps I’ll tell it to you someday. But the main thing is you’re getting help, right?”

“Right. Thanks Harry.” Neville burned with curiosity as he tucked into his toast. But he respected Harry’s right to a few secrets. He knew just how intrusive the wizarding world was for Harry Potter, demanding to know about every aspect of his life, especially now he was one of the Triwizard champions.

It appeared that Ron had been listening in because he was suddenly pointing a spoonful of cornflakes at Neville. “Did I hear you say Blaise Zabini was teaching you to dance? You wanna be careful, Nev, he’s as bent as a butcher’s hook.”

 _Gay? Zabini?_ Neville wasn't really sure what to think about that.

“Ronald! What on earth?” Hermione exclaimed. “Since when have you been homophobic?” She lowered her voice and hissed, although the whole table could still hear her, “and what about Harry?”

Ron turned to Hermione, milk sloshing out of his spoon. “Whaaat? I’m _not_ homophobic. I don’t care what the bloke does in his bloody spare time—or Harry for that matter—” he waved his other hand at Harry who muttered a ‘cheers mate’ into his croissant. “I’m just trying to warn Nev in case, you know, Zabini tries to drop the hand while they’re doing the cha-cha-cha. They’re sneaky, those Slytherins. I hear he’s stroked more wood than a broom polisher.”

“You’re not making it any better, Ron,” Hermione frowned and took a bite of her toast.

“Tango,” Neville said abruptly.

“Beg pardon?” said Ron.

“Not the cha-cha-cha, the tango. That's what he's teaching me.”

“I think you're focussing on the wrong part of my point, Nev,” Ron said through a mouthful of cereal, “ but bloody hell, the tango? That's like the sexiest dance there is!” He turned to Harry and Hermione. “ _Tell_ him. It's a sexy dance!”

Harry was holding up his hands. “Haven't a clue, mate. You know I've got two left feet.”

“Ron's right, Neville,” said Hermione, “it is known for being a very _intimate_ dance. I'm surprised he's chosen that one to teach you.”

“Surprised?” spluttered Ron. “I told you. He's totally trying to get into Neville's pants.”

Neville flushed at that and quietly informed them of Zabini's insistence from the outset that Neville _not_ get the wrong idea. Ron got a bit squinty at that but grudgingly went back to his cornflakes and thankfully said no more about it.

But now that the seed had been planted in Neville's mind that Zabini _liked blokes_ , it took all his effort _not_ to keep thinking about it. For the rest of the day, in all his classes, he wondered about Zabini's intentions. He turned it over and over in his mind, earning him a “Kindly stop dreaming and concentrate on transfiguring your egg-cup, Mr Longbottom,” from McGonagall, and a “Once again, Mr Longbottom, you succeed astonishing us all with your incompetence,” from Snape. All told, his ruminations cost Gryffindor twenty-five points that day causing Seamus Finnigan to remind him what an eejit he was and offer rather graphic advice on how Neville should pull his head out of his arse.

(-_-;)

Before he knew it, it was 8 pm and he was back in the Runes classroom helping Zabini set up. His fingers trembled in anticipation and his spells weren't working quite like they had the night before.

“Try to calm down,” Zabini offered, placing a hand on his shoulder. The sure weight of it had his pulse and breathing slowing almost instantly, and his spellwork settled. Until, that was, he remembered about the _gay thing_ and jerked his shoulder away. A chair came crashing to the ground, one of its wooden legs splintering.

 _Calm the heck down,_ he told himself, as Zabini cast a hasty _Reparo_.

Zabini got the music going and, once good posture for ‘the embrace’ had been established, they began to practice yesterday’s steps in time with the music.

“Trust me,” Zabini was saying, “Let me control your body movements. Feel my intentions through the connection.”

Neville wasn't certain what intentions he was or wasn't supposed to be feeling from Zabini, but he was quite sure Zabini must be able to feel his heart beating rapidly through his robes. Their chests were pressed so tightly together the imprint of Zabini's shirt buttons were sure to be on his chest when he undressed later that night.

They slid around the floor to the pace of the Latin beats, all the while Zabini murmuring softly to Neville: “Maintain the connection,” and “slide your feet, that’s it.” When the music ended they were both breathing heavily.

“Good. Really good. It takes quite a bit of strength to trust someone like this, to totally let go and let them control you.”

Little by little, Neville began to detect the slight shifts in Zabini's pressure against his outstretched hand, predict the moves he was going to make, and react by sliding backwards or sideways in perfect synchronicity. He just emptied his mind and let the connection guide him completely. He knew if he thought for more than a second about how well this was going he'd cock it up and end up arse over tit in a heap on the floor.

As they moved in unison, he noticed Zabini's comments were becoming less frequent. He stole a glance at his dance partner and was surprised to see that his eyes were closed and there was a dusky flush to his smooth nut-brown cheeks. A faint sheen of sweat dotted his upper lip and Neville had the insane urge to taste it.

_Taste it!?_

He pulled away sharply from Zabini, whose eyes opened in confusion.

“A-alright, old boy?” Zabini stuttered, looking a little dazed. “I thought we were really getting the hang of it there, no?”

Breathing hard, Neville scrabbled for an excuse. “I'm— I’m sorry, I— I lost my focus for a second and stumbled.”

Zabini’s face cleared and he studied Neville for a moment. “Not a bother, Longbottom. As I said, you’re progressing really nicely, so let’s take a short break. I have some chocolate frogs if you’d like one.”  He spelled the music volume a little lower and reached into his satchel. “You surprise me, actually,” he said as he offered a frog to Neville.

“I do?” Neville took the chocolate and began unwrapping it. He pulled the card out and chuckled as Salazar Slytherin winked at him. It _would_ have to be him, wouldn’t it?

Zabini looked at him calmly, but Neville could see the pulse still beating in his neck, the beads of perspiration still on his lip. “You’re pretty light on your feet for so stocky a fellow. Solid but agile. I like that.”

What did _that_ mean? He liked that. _Like_ as in applauding me for doing well considering my chunkiness? Or _like_ as in drooling over my chunkiness and wanting to jump me? Neville flushed at the thought.

“I’m surprising myself if I’m honest,” said Neville. In more ways than one, he thought to himself as he munched on his chocolate. He looked across at Zabini. “You’re a really good teacher. You explain well, and you’re… patient.”

Surprise flickered across Zabini’s face and he smiled. “Thanks. I’ve helped a few of my housemates with their steps, but no one’s ever praised my teaching abilities. Although I suppose that’ll be why Draco asked me to help you. But it can’t simply be down to me. If it was then Greg would be a prima ballerina by now.” Zabini chuckled and added, “He’s not, by the way, far from it. You’re _different_. You’re… so responsive.” Zabini lowered his eyes and Neville couldn't be sure but he thought the haughty Slytherin looked a little self-conscious.

Zabini straightened up then and put on a different record. “ _Por Una Cabeza_ ”, he announced, and Neville just nodded blankly.

With a flourish of his arm and a point of his foot, he began to demonstrate the slight adjustment to the steps that would be required for this particular track. Fascinated, Neville watched Zabini sail around the floor with ease and grace, back straight, head held aloft, feet quick and sure, alternating a slinky grace with movements as staccato and decisive as the crack of Apparition.

Regal, Neville thought, and proud, he looks proud to be dancing. That’s what I want… then he corrected himself, that’s what I want to be _like_.

“Okay, got that?” Zabini was asking and Neville realised he’d stopped dancing.

“Er, yes, there were three steps before the sideways one, and a double twirl… and a sort of... dip?”

“Correct.” Zabini appraised him for a moment and his lips curled down disdainfully, although it was quite clear he was trying to suppress a smile. “Impressed you spotted all that, to be honest. Let’s give it a try.”

Neville couldn’t help grinning as Zabini held out his hand.

By the end of the lesson, every nerve ending was fuzzy and warm and Neville’s mind was a blur. He barely had to make an effort with his spells to tidy the room back in place.

The music resounded in his head as he climbed the stairs to his dorm room and he swayed about the room with a smile plastered to his face. He thought back to the way Zabini had looked dancing: light and yet utterly grounded, as if there was nothing else in the world but the dance. The way Zabini had felt pressed against him; strong and safe and capable, as if he’d never let any harm come to Neville.

But that was stupid. Why was he thinking that way?

His thoughts were interrupted by a shuffling noise coming from Harry’s corner of the room, and he looked up to see his dorm-mate appearing on his bed and throwing a silvery cloak into his trunk along with a bit of folded up parchment.

“Harry,” whispered Neville.

“Nev! Fuck!” Harry hissed. “Don’t frighten me like that.”

“Been out prowling with your map?”

“Um... um, yeah.”

“Figure out that egg yet for the second task?”

“Um… um, no.”

“Well, thanks for the chat, Harry,” Neville chuckled.

Harry _was_ acting odd lately. Neville hoped Malfoy wasn’t blackmailing him or something for doing him this favour. Harry did look quite ruffled, and there was a small bruise on his neck. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm great actually. Goodnight, Nev.”

“Yeah, ‘night, Harry.”

He got into his pyjamas and realised he’d forgotten to give the plant cuttings to Zabini. They were still under a stasis charm in his bag. Tomorrow evening, he thought, as a smile curved on his lips. He climbed into bed and hugged his pillow tightly.

 (+_+)

“Rise ‘n’ shine, mate!” Dean was shaking him.

“What? Geddoffme Deano,” he mumbled into his pillow.

“It’s only the bloody Potions test today. You said you wanted to get up early and study.”

 _Ugh_.

Despite cramming as much as he could during History of Magic while Binns droned on about the goblin rebellions, the afternoon’s Potions test went as well as Neville had expected, which was not well at all. As Neville had also suspected, Snape chose to poison him, but luckily Hermione had been on hand with a bezoar. He still required an hour’s recovery under Pomfrey’s watchful eye, which was inconvenient being that it was the last lesson of term and they were officially on Christmas Hols. All the other students were busy celebrating and making merry in their common rooms, and he knew the Weasley twins would be plying unsuspecting students with Canary Creams, disguised as innocuous chocolate eclairs. They’d told him about the prank after they’d tested the prototype on him. He was really sorry to be missing out on all the fun.

He consoled himself with thoughts of tango lessons. He had to admit he was really enjoying them so far. He’d never even seen a tango dance before and now it was all he could think about. It was a dance that was both sleek and abrupt, subtle and assertive, and he found the closeness of it, the feel of body against body, both intensely exciting and mildly terrifying.

Terrifying too that he’d have to dance this with Ginny, not in the safe confines of their dusty classroom, but in the Great Hall with the whole of Hogwarts looking on, teachers, students and ghosts alike.

And there was another thought: dancing with _Ginny_. It felt odd to think about that now. He’d hoped it would impress her, and that it’d make him feel comfortable with her touching him, his arm, his back, while they danced... holding hands. That didn’t seem so scary anymore. A sensory memory hit him, of Blaise’s smooth warm hand pressed against his own, finger-pads ever so slightly sweaty, making minute movements. The strength of intent inferred through those infinitesimal motions had been so subtly powerful once he’d mastered it. The _connection_ , Blaise called it. He wondered if he’d feel the same with Ginny, whether they’d have such a great connection. He hoped so… because it was thrilling, and it was intimate, and he wanted to feel that with her too.

Didn’t he? And hold on a bloody second, when exactly did he start thinking of Zabini as Blaise? That poison must have addled his brain.

Just then, Madame Pomfrey arrived at his bedside and cast a couple of diagnostic spells before sending him on his way, and he could still hear her muttering something about _Severus_ and _irresponsible berk_ as he left the hospital wing.

(∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

“I’ve brought the plant cuttings you asked for.”

Blaise’s eyes lit up. “Oh, fantastic!” he said, clapping his hands together. “You’re a life-saver.”

“You wanna tell me what you need them for, or should I assume some dastardly nefarious deeds? I mean, considering all the toxic properties they contain.” Neville paused for a second. “They better not be for poisoning Gryffindors.”

Zabini laughed, deep and warm. “Loathe as I am to puncture your view of me as a dark wizard hell-bent on murdering Gryffindors, the reasons for needing the ingredients are pretty tame. I don’t really wish to advertise the ailments that I or members of my house are suffering, but suffice it to say that if one wants a potent potion around here, one needs to brew it oneself.”

“You… You’re taking them yourselves?” Neville’s mouth hung open for a second. “Merlin, you need to be really bloody careful. Most of these can be lethal—belladonna and mandrake root, for example—or at least make you very ill. Mistletoe leaves can give you terrible stomach pain and the _serious_ runs.”

“Too right. Unfortunately, they’re the only thing that keeps Theo’s epilepsy in check,” Zabini shook his head slowly, “but you needn’t worry. Draco is wizzo at Potions and has been brewing us all lotions, potions, tinctures and salves since First Year.”

Neville was astounded. Malfoy making medicines for his friends? This did not fit with his idea of Draco Malfoy. At all. He was beginning to feel that everything he thought he knew about Slytherins was being turned on his head.

“Wow. So, if I had to guess, it’d be moonseed as a laxative, which’d be fine as long as he didn’t add more than three seeds per demiard…”

“Well yes, poor Millie was the guinea pig who made Draco realise that one.”

“And mandrake root could either be for a painkiller or…” Neville chuckled, “...an aphrodisiac. So I’m assuming—”

“Ah yes, well Draco’s not told me what he’ll be using that one for. It seems to be a relatively new requirement.”

“Well, whatever it is he needs to be careful. It gives you hallucinations something wicked.”

“Right, I’ll mention that.”

“And the henbane… the only thing I can think of is its anaesthetic properties, otherwise it’s just a common poison…”

“Oh yes, Vincent swears by it after he’s been in a fight, he likes to stitch himself up the Muggle way, doesn’t trust Greg’s suturing spells. It does have unpleasant side effects though.” Zabini pinched his nose and grinned at Neville. “Put it this way, I’m jolly glad I don’t share a dorm room with him.”

Neville giggled. “And the belladonna, that has tons of uses, sedative, painkiller, hay fever remedy, also for mental illnesses, and asthma, but Merlin, that doesn’t make it any less deadly. Whoever’s taking that needs to be really cautious.”

Zabini spoke quietly, “Yes. Yes, they do.”

“It’s you,” Neville realised.

Zabini frowned and said nothing for a few moments, just fiddled with a button on his robes. Then he fixed Neville with a rueful smile. “Yeah. It is.”

“You _are_ being careful with that, right?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you. Draco looks after me, he’s really caring and protective, actually. That, and he got fed up of my rage and paranoia… it's a lot to put up with in a roommate.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, I guess we’ve all had stuff happen to us that fucks us up, eh? Your touch issues and my… problems… Salazar’s _sideburns_ , I was so sure I was _not_ going to tell you what we needed these things for, and you’ve managed to wheedle it all out of me. You know you’re a lot sharper than you let on, Longbottom.” His lips quirked up a little. “You’re a pretty interesting fellow.”

Neville flushed. “Neville. You can call me Neville… er, if you want.”

“Neville it is. And, please, you must call me Blaise.”

They looked at each other without speaking, but the question hung unspoken between them. Did this mean they were friends now? Neville felt the air crackle around him, and he longed to be touched, to soothe the prickling that crept over his skin, and the nerves that jangled beneath.

Blaise broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Well, we best get a wriggle on with the lesson. I thought we could add some flourishes today… for fun.”

“Cool,” agreed Neville, despite the heat creeping up his neck making him feel anything but. His heart was racing now at the thought of their imminent embrace. Good Merlin, his skin-hunger was getting worse, not better. He was legitimately _craving_ the closeness of Zabini’s body, _Blaise’s_ body, against his. It would be the same with Ginny, he told himself, it was nothing to do with it being Blaise.

After a blissful minute of the basic steps, Neville basking in the safe embrace of the boy holding him, Blaise twisted their bodies and wrapped his right leg around Neville’s left, sliding a hand down Neville’s spine, torturously slow. He unwound himself with a flick of his leg, and they continued the dance. Neville’s hands felt sweaty, but Blaise either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

A moment later Neville swallowed thickly as Blaise raised one leg to rub his calf down the back of Neville’s leg from arse to ankle. Merlin, there was no way he could do this with Ginny, was there?

Neville then felt the hand on his waist slide up the sensitive planes of his back. He was hyper-aware of his breathing all of a sudden and the hand moving on his back and was unprepared for the sudden dip. His reactions kicked in and he desperately clung to Blaise so he wouldn’t fall. When he lifted Neville back up Blaise’s eyes seemed much darker. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. Whatever it was, his eyes cleared a moment later and Neville released him from the koala-like grip he’d had on him, where he’d been able to feel every muscle and tendon moving in Blaise’s arms.

They went through a few different songs, practising the leg flourishes and dips over and over until they become routine. At the end of the evening, they parted ways, laughing and chattering about the comic books they both used to read as kids. Neville found he was really starting to enjoy Blaise’s company. The more he found out about him, the more he realised he needed to stop thinking of him as ‘A Slytherin’ and start thinking of him as a schoolmate. In fact, that went for all the Slytherins. When he thought about it, he hadn’t been teased or ridiculed by any of them in at least a week. Maybe they were just feeling the Christmas spirit, or could it be that everyone was just growing up a little, and putting aside childish rivalries? He chuckled then. _And gnomes might fly_ , he thought to himself.

Humming a Latin rhythm, Neville approached the portrait of the Fat Lady and spotted a flash of red hair disappearing in before him.

“Ginny, wait up!” he called, and she popped her head back out of the portrait hole.

“Hey, Nev. Where’ve you been ‘til this hour?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he grinned.

“Fair enough,” she said, copying his grin, “ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

They plonked themselves down on a squashy sofa by the fire. Ginny curled her legs under her and looked at him straight on.

“You’re looking different, Neville,” she said. “I noticed it yesterday too. You’re not walking about looking anxious, your back’s all straight and you look, I dunno, taller and, well… confident. Come on, what’s happened?”

“Er, nothing.” Neville couldn't very well tell her he was getting dance lessons. “Eating my greens, I guess.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Your greens.”

“Make you grow tall, and all that,” he offered with a shrug.

“Okayy.” She shrugged too. “So have you picked me out a pretty flower for the Ball from the greenhouses? My dress is light pink.”

“Right. Okay. Yeah. Thanks for reminding me. Nice one. I’ll get on the case.”

Ginny laughed and punched him on the arm. “Only kidding, ya dolt. You don’t need to bother with a flower. Let’s just go and have a laugh. I am looking forward to the posh dancing though—the fussy dance steps Mum taught us will _finally_ come in handy—not to mention the spiked punch,” she grinned.

“Yeah,” Neville agreed. “Yeah, me too.”

After they said goodnight, he climbed the stairs to his dorm-room, happy for the first time in a long while that things seemed to be finally coming up _rosa grandiflora_ for him.

(^‿^)

The next evening’s dancing lesson went by in a blur. Once Neville settled into the safeness of the tango embrace, he gave up control completely and let Blaise and the connection and the beat of the music lead him. It was intensely intimate placing that much trust in another person while being pressed close to them as they control your every movement. He could feel every muscle sliding and rippling beneath him, could feel Blaise’s chest expanding and contracting with every breath, could feel…

_Oh._

_Oh, gods._

_That’s Blaise’s_ —

There was a hardness pressing into Neville’s groin, a distinct hot hardness that had not been there a moment ago. He jumped away from Blaise as if burned, splaying his fingers wide like that would fend him off.

They both spoke at the same time.

“Neville, I—”

“Blaise, your—”

They stared at each other, faces flushed and horrified. Blaise took a step back, straightening his robes, and then seemed to change his mind and took a hesitant step towards Neville, who began backing away.

“My apologies, Neville.” He had his hands raised in a placatory manner. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. That’s, um, as you’re probably aware, a perfectly normal male reaction to close physical groin rubbing, such as we were, ah, engaging in as part of the dance.”

“Normal?” Neville’s voice had gone up an octave. He hugged his arms around himself.

“For goodness sake, Longbottom… _Neville_ , your thighs are wide and firm, what did you expect?”

“Wide and firm?”

“Yes, very firm.”

“So are yours,” Neville retorted without thinking. Merlin, what did he have to go and say that for?

“Ah,” Blaise smirked. “You’ve noticed.”

“And… and I’ve not— Well, it’s not made me—”

“Hard?” Blaise raised an eyebrow.

Neville bit his lip. “No.”

“Because it seems to me you’ve rather been enjoying the close contact.”

“I _told_ you about that, I have a strong reaction to touch, just not… not _that_ kind of reaction.”

“Quite.” Blaise pulled on his cuffs, fussing with the buttons. “It’s fascinating, really. Your pupils dilate, your skin gets _so_ very hot, your breathing is heavy, and I can feel your pulse pounding against me in several places. And the sheen of sweat across the tops of your cheeks is quite... eye-catching. But you feel no… _intimate_ stimulation.”

“Well, it’s hardly surprising, I’m not into blokes like you are.”

Blaise’s brow creased for a moment then smoothed out. For a moment he looked younger, like a forlorn first year.

“Is that it?” Neville asked. “Do you— Do you fancy me?” Fuck, why didn't he listen to Ron?

Blaise drew his mouth into a straight line, not meeting Neville’s eyes. “No, of course not. I told you at the beginning not to read into this—”

“Well, it’s bloody difficult not to when I’ve got your todger sticking into my leg.” _Todger? Now I sound like Gran. Merlin._

“I _told_ you!” Blaise said sharply through gritted teeth. Neville noticed he was balling his fists, knuckles white. “That was purely a natural reaction to a physical stimulus. You’re _overreacting_ and—” He stopped, closed his eyes briefly, and then looked at Neville, “—and, shit, I’m sorry. I’m getting combative… this is why I—” He sucked in a breath.

Neville saw the pain etched into the brown eyes looking hopelessly at him and his heart softened. “This is why you what?”

“It's why I need the potion. It keeps me balanced and calm.”

Neville felt bold enough to ask, “You said something happened when you were young?”

“Something? Try lots of things.” He huffed out a dry laugh but it didn't go to his eyes. “Try having to get to know a different stepfather every couple of years. Try wishing so hard that this one would like you, that they'd treat you well, that maybe, just maybe, they'd be the one to stick around… to survive. Try realising that all your schoolmates are whispering about you. Try living with the rumours that your mother was a serial murderer.”

“Oh Blaise,” Neville whispered and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I'm really sorry. That must have been rough.”

“I've never actually said that to anyone before. Fuck. I don't know why I'm even telling you this.” He hung his head. “I've never told a soul… not even Draco.”

Neville slid his hand over Blaise’s shoulder blade and began rubbing circles on his back. “I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry.”

“Thanks. You’re just— I don’t know what it is about you, Neville. Honestly, I’m not hitting on you, I just... find you fascinating. You get so much stick from teachers and other students, and yet, you’re still kind, and gentle, and gracious.”

Neville’s face heated up. “I don’t know about that… I suppose I’ve been used to people knocking me all my life, so it’s normal for me.”

“Doesn’t make it okay, Neville. And… and I’m sorry if I’ve been guilty of jeering at you in the past. I should know as well as anyone that people carry around pain on the inside that others can’t see.” He brought his hand up over his shoulder and placed it on Neville’s. Neville closed his eyes and savoured the feeling of skin against skin. “And I’m sorry about, er, getting excited earlier. It’s such an intimate dance, and you _are_ a good-looking bloke. I tried to make excuses but the fact is—”

Neville gasped audibly. No one had ever told him he was good-looking before. “S’fine,” he managed.

“I guess because you’re not gay, it’s not an issue, but it’s hard for me not to get a little turned on in this situation. I’ll understand if you don’t want to continue.”

“No, I—” and Neville paused. Strangely he felt no desire to quit the lessons. In fact the thought of them stopping now made something inside him ache uncomfortably. “I want to keep going with them… if that’s alright with you.”

“Even if—” Blaise didn’t need to finish _that_ sentence.

“Even if,” said Neville, although he had absolutely no idea why.

(⊙_☉)

Neville was unable to sleep.

His mind kept replaying the scene over and over. Blaise’s hot, hard _thing_ pressing against him. Both of them staring at each other in shock, breathing heavily. He loved the sensation of Blaise touching him when they danced. But _that_ was too much. Far too much.

Blaise hadn’t promised it wouldn’t happen again. The fact that he couldn't control it meant it was quite likely that it _would_ happen again. So why on earth did Neville agree to continue with more lessons?

For Ginny. Of course. For Ginny.

A thought struck him and his blood ran cold. What if the same thing happened when he was dancing with Ginny? Shit. She was younger than him, only thirteen. That would be so bloody inappropriate. How was he going to ensure he didn’t get turned on when her body was pressed against his? The whole point was to impress her, not leave a dick shaped impression _on her_.

Perhaps he could just _imagine_ she was Blaise, trick his mind and body into thinking he was at his dancing lesson. That could work.

But if it didn’t he was doomed.

Who could he talk to? Definitely not Ron, he’d hex him into next week if he even mentioned getting aroused by his sister. _Maybe_ Harry.

Or perhaps there was a potion he could take, or a plant extract that would suppress boners. Surely there must be. He resolved to look it up the next day.

(@_@)

The Herbology books in the library contained a wealth of information on how to _get_ a stiffy if you were unable to, but precious little information on how to avoid them. It seemed to be that people just wanted their erections to be bigger and harder and stronger, and Neville needed a bathroom break after reading about all of that for forty minutes, not to mention looking at all the diagrams.

That just left visualising Blaise as his partner. He was sure he could do that. He’d danced enough times with him. He’d make sure to focus on Blaise as his partner extra closely. For science… but also for signs of, well, excitement.

ಠ_ರೃ

At the lesson that evening Neville couldn’t help but be hyper-aware of Blaise. He was demonstrating another new move and Neville leant back against a table admiring his effortless fluidity; he was all dark eyes and powerful grace. He knew he’d never be that good, but if he could even capture a fraction of that magic—

“Right, take my hand and we’ll try it together.” Neville grasped Blaise’s hand and shoulder and they began to move.

“So here, on the second slow step”—Blaise dropped his hands to Neville’s hips. Neville’s breathing suddenly went shallow—“turn to the left.”

Blaise’s hands twirled Neville so that he was no longer facing him. Instead, Blaise was now a wall of heat behind him. Neville felt a whimper of pleasure begin in his throat at the feel of a warm body draped over his back and he desperately smothered it before it could be voiced. Blaise then skilfully twirled him back around and Neville found himself once again pressed against his chest.

“That alright?” Blaise asked.

“Yeah, yep,” Neville replied, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt.

Blaise took his word for it and they fell back into the regular steps, floating around the floor, spines straight and heads held up proudly, lost in the dance.  

They reached the section with the leg flourishes and they repeated the moves they had gone through the previous day, Neville sliding his leg sideways across Blaise’s shin, in a gentle caress like he’d been taught, and then flicking his leg to the side before caressing it back down to the floor. He felt the catch in Blaise's chest as he did so, and a firm hand pulled Neville in tighter.  

Next, it was Blaise’s turn and he leisurely dragged one leg up in between Neville’s parted thighs, the slight pressure disconnecting Neville’s thoughts for several moments. When his mind cleared, he realised he was pressing his groin firmly against Blaise as they moved through the familiar steps. It felt incredible and he pushed himself against Blaise more urgently to make the sweet pressure continue. The air sucked right out of his lungs when he realised they were _both hard_.

Well, fuck. It was no bloody wonder this felt so good.

Instead of pulling away he stole a glance at Blaise who had his eyes closed as they spun around, his dusky lips slightly parted and a warm glow on the almond skin of his cheeks. He didn’t know why but he didn’t want to break whatever spell he was under, and Merlin, he had to admit it felt pretty brilliant. Each shift of Blaise’s weight against him sent waves of pleasure into his groin and through all his nerve endings, and his skin… his skin might as well have been on fire.

Neville knew the song was coming to its dramatic close _,_ and it was now second nature to let Blaise lower him back in a small dip near the end. By now Neville didn’t fear that he might drop him, and sure enough, when Blaise flipped Neville backwards, he held him there, his arm strong under Neville’s back to support his weight. They were both audibly panting, noses almost touching and breathing each other’s air, their chests simultaneously rising together.  

Blaise brought Neville back up, hands sliding along his body, and Blaise was close, so close, mouth tantalisingly near. They were both breathing hard and sweat dampened the short tight curls along Blaise’s hairline. He appeared to be caught up in it, leaning close to Neville, hovering...

But then Blaise cleared his throat and stepped back, and Neville felt like he’d been dunked in the icy water of the Great Lake.

“Apologies, Neville,” Blaise said, voice hoarse. “I got a bit swept away.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry,” he replied quickly. “I— I think I did too.”

“I’m finding it more and more difficult to control my urges with you. I’m so very sorry. You should have stopped me as soon as you felt uncomfortable. I wouldn’t have been annoyed.”

“Well, I was just—” he cut off because, well, he wasn’t entirely sure _what_ he’d been doing. He hadn’t _wanted_ to stop. Merlin’s beard, he’d just rutted against Blaise Zabini… and enjoyed it. Fuck, and he was still sort of hard. It was embarrassing.

“I think maybe we should stop the lessons.” Neville hated saying it, but he couldn't continue if he was going to pop a boner each time they danced. “I’m sorry. I’ve really enjoyed them and learnt tons. You’re a wicked teacher, I just—”

“It’s okay Neville, I get it.”

“Well, I’m glad _you_ do because I don’t. I’m a bit bloody confused if I’m honest. I just think it’s best we stop… before I—” _Before I what?_ He took a deep breath. “Let’s just call it quits, eh? You got your ingredients. I learned to dance well enough. I’m a damn sight better than I was a week ago, that’s for sure.”

“It's true,” Blaise smiled kindly, “you've come on in leaps and bounds. I was sure eight days wouldn't be sufficient, but in five, you've mastered all the basics and picked up a few nice flourishes that will impress your date. And you’ve got three more days to practice at your leisure. Really, you’ll do great.”

“Thanks for understanding, Blaise.”

“I think it’s the right thing to do. I— I really wanted to kiss you just then… at the end of the dance. It— It just felt so right to me. And I think— I think I’ll keep wanting to kiss you. It won’t go away, because I think you’re incredible, Neville. I’ve loved getting to know you, and I don’t want to ruin everything by making an unwanted pass at you. You’ll make some lucky girl an amazing boyfriend, but I’d dearly like if you could consider me a friend. I’ll promise not to try to kiss you.”

Neville’s eyes and nose were beginning to prickle for some bizarre reason, but he managed to agree, “Yes, of course. I’d like that… and... no more stiffies, please.”

Blaise guffawed, “No More Stiffies, I’ll get Draco to make some flashing badges for us,” and Neville couldn’t help laughing out loud.

Once they’d composed themselves, they tidied up the room in silence, stealing occasional glances and each other and giggling. When it was time for Blaise to lock up the room Neville asked, “Who’s your date for the Ball, then?”

“Graham Montague.”

Neville squinted at him. “Fifth Year, right? A Chaser. I didn’t know he was gay.”

“Goodness, yes. He’s been pestering me for months. Not my type really though. Far too sporty. Way too many muscles. I prefer the softies.” He gave Neville a fond look. “See you around, then.”

“See you ‘round, Blaise.”

(@_@)

Neville threw himself on his bed after dinner the next day.

He knew it had been the right thing to do.

It was the only logical and sensible thing to do.

It may have been a one-off heat-of-the-moment thing, but he couldn't risk it becoming more.

It _wouldn’t_ become more. Because he _wasn’t_ gay.

So why could he not stop thinking about Blaise? Why did he feel so drab and empty, like there was a bright colourful puzzle piece missing from his heart?

He missed the dancing, sure. He’d even tried to rope Ron into practising with him after lunch, but it had Not Been The Same... At All. Ron was _far_ too self-conscious. Actually, after that afternoon’s debacle, he felt a little bit sorry for his date. Although he wasn’t even sure that Ron had a date. Hermione was already going with someone else, and anyone could see he only had eyes for her.

Maybe if he met Blaise for a chat? They were friends now apparently. That's what friends did. A chat and a walk around the lake maybe. Throw toasted crumpets to the Great Squid. Or was that weird? Merlin, he didn't know.

All he did know was that _before_ he had craved Blaise’s arms around him, to make him feel safe and calm, and _now_ he just wanted to see Blaise, to talk to him, to hear his posh accent, to make him laugh. His insides ached with the need for it. It was mental.

Just then the door swung open and Harry and Ron piled into the room, laughing and chewing at the same time: Every Flavour Beans—Neville could see the contents of their mouths, which was gross.

“Yuck,” Ron garbled, “Spinach!”

They plonked down on Harry’s bed, the springs complaining under the sudden weight.

Neville made a decision. He needed to get his head sorted. He needed to be a Gryffindor about it.

“Harry?” he called from his supine position.

“Yeah?”

“Harry, you like blokes don’t you?”

“I doooo,” Harry said, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “You mean romantically, right?”

“Yeah.” Neville turned on the bed to face Harry who was sitting propped by his arms stretched behind him. “How did you figure out that you fancied boys?”

Ron stood up suddenly. “Yeah, I think I said I’d meet ‘Mione in the common room. Seeya later, guys. Have fun chatting.”

Harry and Neville chuckled. “Bye, Ron!” they chorused.

“Um. Right.” Harry shuffled himself back against the headboard and fluffed up a pillow to lean on. “I suppose I began noticing that the way I was thinking about boys was different from the way, say, Ron was thinking about them. More than just as mates, like being attracted to the way they looked,” he scrubbed at the back of his neck, eyes darting left and right, “thinking about how it might be if I kissed them, how their solid arms might feel around me. And not just that, how _some_ boys—not _all_ of course, same with girls isn’t it, you don’t fancy them _all_ —but some I wanted to get to know better, find out all about them, wanted to know what they were doing or thinking all the time, wanted to get their attention, obsessed about what I could do to get them to smile at me across the Great Hall… and when they did smile… that feeling—” Harry shook his head for a moment, lips quirking upwards. “Anyway, I was pretty confused for a while when I realised that it was _more_ than just wanting to be their friend. So I spoke to my godfather about it. He’s gay, and he helped me to figure it all out.”

“Sirius Black?”

“Yep. And he helped me see that I’m not gay.”

“What? You’re not?” Neville was confused.

“No, I’m bi. I like girls _and_ boys… pretty much equally.”

“Bi. Bi… sexual?”

“Right.” Harry angled his body to face Neville. “So now your turn.”

“Eh?”

“There must be a reason you’re asking. You’re not usually the prying type, so I know it’s not just nosiness.”

“Merlin, okay.” Neville took a deep breath, his nerves jangling, and turned to lie on his back again so he didn’t have to look Harry in the eye. “Well, it’s a little bit embarrassing…”

Neville was so glad to have a friend like Harry.

Harry, who’d never judged him over the past four years for any of the stupid mistakes he made, who time after time made him feel braver than he really was. Who listened without interruption to him recounting his lessons with Blaise, from the way Blaise soothed Neville's skin hunger, to the unwanted erections, to the constant thoughts about him that refused to go away. Who just nodded when Neville wondered whether he was still attracted to Ginny or not, because how _could_ he be when every part of him just wanted to dance with Blaise instead of her?

Harry, who was right now helping him examine a side of himself that he'd been oblivious to up until now. Reminding him that these feelings about Blaise didn’t mean he was definitely gay, just that he still had some figuring out to do. And that maybe he _was_ just like Harry, maybe he was bi. But that there was no rush to have all the answers right now. That it was okay to explore. That it was okay to change your mind.

Yes, he was lucky to have a friend like Harry, who valued friendship above almost everything else. Neville was pretty sure he didn’t fancy Harry, but he knew without a doubt that, if it came to it, he’d do anything for him, whether that meant following Harry into battle against You-Know-Who, or sticking up for Harry in Potions when Snape was lambasting him as he had a habit of doing.

So, he talked it through with Harry and decided to let things happen as naturally as possible. There was no point rushing it. He knew Blaise liked him. He’d go to the Ball with Ginny and show off his moves, and they’d have a great time. Ginny was great, they got along brilliantly. But he thought that he’d like to see where things led with Blaise… as friends… and possibly, perhaps, maybe, something more.

(°-°) (°.°)

The whole of Christmas Eve was spent in Hogsmeade buying Christmas gifts. Well, Neville really only had Gran to buy for, but he was content to traipse around the snow-covered streets with the others as they bought presents to Owl off to their families. He did, however, pick up a few little trinkets for his mates. And he did spend an inordinately long time wondering about a charmed clasp in the window of Madame Corrissa's Treasure Emporium, something he thought Blaise might like.

Eventually, after much dithering, he forced himself to go inside. He stopped short when he saw the proprietor; her striking long pink hair, which seemed to be dotted with tiny stars, and her shimmering blue and green chainmail dress made her look like an ethereal mermaid and intimidated Neville so much that he almost turned around and walked straight back out. But she cooed a welcome and he hesitantly enquired about the clasp. She confirmed it worked the way he’d hoped and a few minutes later it was bought and paid for before Neville could change his mind. He stowed the small package in his robes as he re-joined his friends in The Three Broomsticks, a fuzzy brightness unfurling in his chest.

(-‿-)

Christmas morning dawned, heralding a day of feasting and merriment, the culmination of which would, of course, be the magnificent Yule Ball. After wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and exchanging small gifts, they all headed down for breakfast.

Neville had never spent Christmas at Hogwarts and was utterly entranced. The twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were covered in small shiny Christmas parcels, wrapped in varying house colours. As the students sat down to a banquet breakfast, the presents flew off the trees and landed one on each student’s plate. There were squeals of delight as they were unwrapped to reveal a shiny Super Wizard Cracker, and chaos ensued in the form of a hundred mini-explosions and showers of chocolate mice, frogs and bats.

Once the blue smoke had cleared Neville loaded up his his plate with eggs, bacon, sausages and hash browns. As he was eating, he glanced across at the Slytherin table where Malfoy was holding court with some ribald tale or other. He sought out Blaise and spied him sitting next to Parkinson, elegantly eating an orange, segment by segment. As if he felt Neville’s gaze on him, he turned his head and looked straight at him. A broad smile crept across Blaise’s face and Neville’s stomach turned over. He smiled back, then looked away shyly.

Neville realised Harry was pointedly looking at him, wiggling his eyebrows. This helped Neville to make his mind up and he quickly scoffed down the rest of his breakfast and marched over to the Slytherin table.

Blaise stood up as he approached, the faces of the others at his table a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

“Fancy a walk in the snow?” he asked as casually as he could.

Blaise's eyes widened and he stood up. “Certainly. If you give me five minutes I’ll grab my winter cloak and scarf.”

Once they were wrapped up, they walked down to the lakeside, everything awkwardly silent except for the snow crunching pleasingly underfoot.

Neville kicked a pebble into the water. “It’s so quiet down here. The snow always makes things quieter somehow.”

“Mmm,” agreed Blaise. “Makes a nice change from the chaos of the Great Hall.” He blew his breath out in a white cloud that drifted away on the breeze. “So. What's brought this on? I haven’t seen you in the last three days. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

“I've had a lot to think about.”

“Oh?” Blaise turned to him, a worried look on his face, and Neville averted his eyes.

“I like you, Blaise.” He looked back at Blaise then, checking his dark features for a reaction, but was unable to read his feelings. He channelled Godric and carried on, “I'm not sure what you want from me. Or if I can ever _be_ that for you. But I quite liked… I _really_ liked spending time with you. And… and I want to get to know you better. To see if— Well, I’d like to—”

“It’s okay, Neville. That’s— Salazar, I’m just so relieved you’re even talking to me, I thought you’d changed your mind about us being friends. And regarding what I want from you, well... I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to be more than just friends. But friends is fine—” he grinned and lowered his voice menacingly “—for now.” Blaise laughed when Neville thumped his arm, and he held his hands up. “Just kidding! No More Stiffies, I swear!”

Neville laughed too. Things were going to be fine. Then he remembered the package in his pocket. “Er… I got you something… a little thank you for helping me. And it’s a Christmas gift, I ‘spose. Something you can wear tonight... if you like… on your dress robes.”

Blaise opened the gift and took out the pearlescent clasp. “Oh Neville, it’s lovely… you honestly shouldn’t have. I— Bugger, I didn’t get you anything.”

“No, of course, I didn’t expect you to.” Neville shuffled his feet in the snow. “The clasp, it’s a mood clasp. The stone is charmed to change colours depending on your mood. There’s a bit of parchment there that explains what the colours mean and whatnot.”

“Oh, that’s really clever.”

“Yeah. So, er, I think it goes blue when you're calm, purple when you’re really happy or in love, yellow when you’re anxious, black when you’re stressed, and so on. And I thought that— well, it sounds a bit silly now.”

“No. Tell me… please.” Blaise placed a hand on Neville’s shoulder, grounding him in a now familiar way.

“Well, er, I thought that… if you wore this… I’d be able to see if you were feeling anxious… or upset… or whatever, and I’d be able to help or— and other people wouldn’t know— Oh Merlin, this seemed like a good idea yesterday, and now—” Neville looked down at his feet, wishing he’d never bought the thing. He was no good at this sort of stuff.

“Neville.” Blaise placed a gloved hand under Neville’s chin, gently raising it up so they were eye to eye again. Snowflakes fell in Neville’s eyes and he blinked them away to see chocolate brown eyes gazing back at him, shining with what looked like tears. “It’s lovely. And I get it. I get why you got this for me. It’s… I don’t know what to say actually. It’s really thoughtful.” He swiped at his eye with a sleeve cuff. “Thank you.”

Neville blushed. “It’s nothing, really. But I’m glad you like it… and I’m glad we’re friends.”

“Me too. Really glad.”

Blaise conjured a blanket, cast a warming charm, and they sat by the lake for an hour, skimming stones and trading stories about their childhoods, some funny and some sombre. Neville could have happily stayed there all day with Blaise but he’d promised Harry, Ron and Seamus he’d join their Christmas Day Exploding Snap tournament. Besides, the warming charm had worn off, and despite wanting to, he was not quite brave enough to cuddle up to Blaise.

They walked back up to the castle in the mid-morning sun and stamped the snow off their feet upon reaching the Entrance Hall.

“Oh, one other thing…” said Neville before they parted ways.

“What’s that?”

“Pretty sure I’m bisexual now,” he blurted. “Seeya tonight!”

Blaise stared open-mouthed as Neville scurried off up the stairs.

(>^_^)> <(^.^<)

“Ginny!” Neville gasped when she emerged from the staircase to the girl’s dorm room, wearing a long flamingo pink dress with diagonal chiffon layers. “You look stunning. I love the colour.”

She grinned. “Thanks, Nev. Mum always said redheads should never wear pink so that made my mind up. You’ve scrubbed up pretty well yourself, I must say.”

“Cheers. Here’s the flower you demanded.” He passed her the pink gerbera corsage he’d made.

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “You sap… thanks,” she said, placing it on her wrist. “Right.” She looked around at the others gathered in the common room and raised her voice, “Last one to the Great Hall’s a rotten pumpkin!”

(∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The Great Hall looked magical—unsurprisingly—and the Christmas feast was stupendous. Neville didn’t know how the Hogwarts elves managed to make the butteriest roast potatoes, and crispiest turkey skin, but he had to remind himself several times not to overeat or he’d never be able to lift himself off the chair, never mind dance the tango.

After dinner, the tables vanished and the chairs were pushed back to the wall. The band struck up a waltz and several couples took to the floor. Neville went and procured some punch for him and Ginny.

“There’s no firewhisky in this,” she pouted, sipping from the crystal goblet.

“Sorry, Gin. You’re thirteen. Seamus steered me to the non-alcoholic one. He’d never admit it, but he’s a bit afraid of all your brothers.”

She sighed. “Those spoilsports. Fancy a dance?”

“I do actually. I’m gonna ask the band to play a tango, you know how to dance that, right?”

“Tango? Get you, Neville! I sure do.”

When the tango music began Neville led Ginny out to the dancefloor. He took her hand and placed his other hand on her shoulder… just as she attempted to place _her_ hand on _his_ shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. “Your hand goes on my waist.”

Neville’s mind raced. Was he— Was he supposed to lead? Of course. Of _course_. But he hadn’t learnt how. They’d cut the lessons off too soon.

 _Bollocks_.

“Uhh, y-yes of course,” he stammered, lowering his hand to her waist and sliding it behind her back. He pressed his hand gently against hers and felt her pressing back, establishing the connection.  

He tried desperately to figure out the reverse of the steps he’d learned. _Forward_ instead of back, he told himself and took a step forward. Ginny moved back in time with him. He racked his brain trying to picture what Blaise had done with his feet, but instead his mind unhelpfully supplied him with memories of Blaise’s dark skin, and closed eyes, and the feel of lean muscles moving under his hands.

“Ow!” cried Ginny as he stood on her toe. “I thought you knew this dance.”

“I— I’m sorry, Gin, I’m just flustered, I—” He tried to carry on, focusing on his steps, but it was no good, the connection was lost, and his head was starting to spin.

“Okay, no problem, let’s take a break.” She broke the embrace and stepped back.

“Alright, I’m so sorry, I—” but he stopped as someone tall and dark and, well, yes, handsome, caught his eye over Ginny’s shoulder.

Blaise was saying something to his partner—Montague, wasn’t it—and looking directly at Neville. He clapped Montague on the shoulder and then began approaching with a look in his eye that felt oddly predatory, and it sent a shiver up Neville’s spine. Neville’s pulse began to thud in his ears and he could barely hear the music. He was vaguely aware of Ginny speaking to him but she could have been at the end of a windy tunnel for all he could hear her.

In a moment, Blaise was in front of him and Neville smiled weakly at him, embarrassed at cocking things up. Blaise smiled back, an open, almost stupid smile, devoid of the usual haughtiness he displayed in public. Neville spotted the clasp pinned to his robes. It was glowing a rosy pink, which Neville remembered meant happiness and compassion. Blaise offered Neville a hand, palm up. The gesture was clear.

“Let's show them how it's done.”

Warmth swooped through Neville’s belly as he took Blaise’s hand. He looked back at Ginny who mouthed “go on”, just as Michael Corner approached to whisper something in her ear. He knew Michael fancied Ginny, and he felt a surge of relief that she wouldn't be left abandoned.

That was the only thought he could spare as they took up their position just as the next tango song began. He recognised it straight away: _El Choclo._ Blaise traced Neville’s backbone with his knuckles, stopping at his lower back, then he pressed his palm firmly against Neville's lower back. Neville shivered in pleasure and grasped Blaise tighter as they began to move.

This. This was how it was meant to feel. He hadn’t even realised it but this was what his body had been longing for over the past three days. Warmth and energy flowed through him, his head cleared and all anxieties fled.

He was so attuned to how Blaise’s weight shifted, where he was moving, what he was about to do next. It was a little dizzying, but they glided around the dancefloor as if it was made of ice. Neville felt tall, and regal, and proud, fucking proud to be dancing with Blaise. It blew his mind how a little over a week ago, he’d thought of the Slytherin as cold and cruel, when the truth was he was exactly the opposite; he was warm and funny and patient and kind.

And it struck him. Why shouldn’t he fancy Blaise? Just because he was a boy? He knew that obstacle to be nonsense now. _Really_ , he thought, _there’s nothing holding me back. Nothing except myself._

The music surged and Neville felt an accompanying swell of emotion. Their hips and chests shifted against one another as their feet moved in the typical _slow-slow-quick-quick-slow_ pattern of the dance. Neville’s breath caught and he heard a collective ‘oooh’ as Blaise completed a daring leg flourish.

Neville’s leg move was next and he wrapped his arms around Blaise as he dragged a foot up Blaise's leg and then hooked his leg high over Blaise’s hip. Blaise’s hand skimmed up his thigh, gripping it in place. He dragged Neville along the dancefloor for several steps before releasing his leg. Next Blaise cradled Neville’s head and dipped him down low, to several gasps from onlookers. Neville was panting hard now and his pulse was racing. The heat coming from Blaise’s hand on his back felt like it was burning a hole through his robes. Hot breaths of air ghosted on his collarbone as Blaise held him steadily in position for several beats.

When they came up from the dip, Neville slid his hand to the back of Blaise’s neck. Blaise turned his head towards him, mouth teasingly close.

With darkened eyes, Blaise breathed, “Neville?”

Neville murmured, “If you still want to kiss me, that would be okay.”

Blaise gripped his hand tighter. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Blaise,” Neville couldn't help beaming. “I’m bloody positive.”

Blaise’s lips parted on a smile and he leaned forward to claim Neville's lips. They kissed just like they danced the tango. Tentative at first, soon replaced with passion and heat as the kiss deepened. They moved as one, lips and tongues sliding against each other, fingers twining in each other’s hair, and just as with the dance, Neville gave himself up completely to Blaise. It was his first kiss, and it was perfect.

After a few moments, they broke apart, Neville dizzy with the need to kiss Blaise again and again. Blaise held Neville’s face in his hands, a fire burning in his brown eyes, and whispered against Neville’s lips, “ _Penso di essermi innamorato di te_.”

Neville was about to ask what that meant, but it was then that the music stopped and he became aware that people were cheering. He looked around at the crowd clapping and whooping, and there was Harry, Ron, Ginny, and even Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, and sweet suffering Merlin, even McGonagall and Dumbledore.

Neville pressed his forehead against Blaise and grinned. “That was thirsty work. Let’s go get a drink.” He grabbed Blaise’s hand and led him off the dancefloor, his whole body still buzzing from what had just happened, lips still tingling, and the rush of emotion that had overcome him still singing in his blood.

As the music started up again—another waltz—Neville spotted Harry leaving the table where he’d been sitting with one of the Patil twins; Neville never could tell them apart. He had that determined set to his face that he got when he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way. Harry crossed the floor to where the Slytherins were gathered, and Neville watched as he took Draco Malfoy’s hand to ask him for the next dance.

Understanding dawned on Neville when he saw Malfoy’s face light up. Draco helping him suddenly made a lot more sense.

Neville suddenly laughed aloud.

“What’s tickling you?” asked Blaise.

“Malfoy. He looks so happy.”

“He does. Well, it’s Potter, isn’t it? Draco’s always been potty for Potter. But I don’t follow. Why’s that funny?”

“I just can’t wait to see his facial expression in about two minutes’ time when he realises what an arse-clenchingly terrible dancer Harry is.”

Blaise spat his fruit punch over his robes. “Oh, Merlin,” he laughed. “That will be priceless. Pass me the popcorn.”

Neville giggled as Blaise cast a _Tergeo_ on his clothes. Then they sat down, hand in hand, Blaise’s clasp glowing a deep purple and reflecting the twinkling fairy lights, and watched the drama unfold.

(っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )

**Author's Note:**

> To save to scrolling back up: the mood clasp being purple signifies “very happy or in love”.  
> The Italian phrase Blaise whispers means “I think I’m falling in love with you.”  
> Basically Blaise is a besotted bean.


End file.
